“People never seemed to notice that, by saving time, they were losing something else. No one cared to admit that life was becoming ever poorer, bleaker and more monotonous…Time is life itself, and life resides in the human heart. And the more people saved, the less they had.” Michael Ende
Ceilings of skylines, fire places mashed up in the air, socks dusty from the fear of speaking up knowing that a thing is a thing, not what is said about that thing; it’s not as simple as rolling up your sleeves ready for a battle, our souls didn’t really want to know how it would end. We were afraid of losing people, possessions and ourselves, running falling off the treadmill out drinking at the same spots endlessly, ending up at strangers’ places incapable to endure confusions and conversations deserving to be postponed for tomorrow.
She kept buying new pairs of socks, waiting for me so goddamn patiently it made me question the science behind pleasure and compliance. It was so easy to jump from kite surfing to skiing to fucking her and all of them, then fucking off and doing it all over again watching the sunrise on the beach, that’s where it all started and ended with the sun rising and making us forget previous yesterdays and people waiting for us pressuring us to make up our minds, conquer the world, choose the right person, whatsoever. Who were we, we were special to some, strangers to others, misunderstood by most, mostly convinced we were better than others and we kept moving because if we stopped we would have time to think about important things and we didn’t want to know, we urged for this freedom and richness not of the soul and not of money but richness of being influential, desired liked and worthy.
The taste of this life was beginning to glow as real, exiting the clear cuts I didn’t want to let go of, because tasting was believing and I knew there was more, there was something I was missing; the very few stars looking down at me, unable to see me – if I was so small, why did feelings seem so big and important? I sat in the dark, post-wine post-fuck and post-laughing at my own thoughts, I sat listening to the rain and thought of what was behind desires. Did we have to get rid of them to see the pure bare essence of who we were or were our desires precisely making us who we were? The desires in the souls that we carried with impossible-to-measure grams of happy moments, the unsaid things we promised ourselves we would get free of next time. Next time we’d speak of feelings instead of nonsense. Next time we’d be free and broken. But next time would arrive centuries away from now and I would be sobered up by then, in the daylight no rain would remind me of such promises.
We betrayed time with urgencies, didn’t we trust we would get there anyway – get where? Where would all that lead? Our hearts would refuse to get any peace until we were there, all completely happy indulging in some sort of a final excited joy. We had the same life and we had different lives, eating our meals day after day, buying clothes posing for pictures and changing, I insisted on change because I couldn’t bear the possibility of monotonous happenings, not-having-a-clue random people at the bar, online, in the street. They were so many, who didn’t get it but perhaps they knew something else that kept their hearts at peace or searching. I put everything I knew on a pedestal, dissected above and beyond the earth; the human emotions the eyes the beings the seeings the awkwardness poverty and wealth, the anticipated future orgasms and ecstasies the risks and dangers we were considering to go through with, fooling ourselves that we wanted to do them out of love or something good, but it was all selfish because we wanted to be loved we wanted to be good.
Where were we placed in the picture of this constant whiny rush to be; to be someone and be seen as someone else willing to go all the way as if it was going to change anything. We changed anyway, waking up talking joking and hoping, been almost a couple of years since I met her, I must have changed infinite times since, fucking and leaving month after month until it was bound not to be. The easy and silent perfectly arranged intervals were becoming a habit, but it was urgent to meet once more before it was time for more pauses and more others.
Shape of something not so wild, only subtle and settled little treatments on their way soon; everything was coming soon – from flamed up dirty socks in the air to calm evenings on the couch to more silence between moments supposed to be shouted to the entire world. Soon, we would get there to a life of a consistent ‘soon-ness’ and we would then crave something else, stretch out to a more immense surrendering to our inner fights.